Home > Uncategorized > I’m a rock star

I’m a rock star

I don’t care what anybody says. I Am A Rock Star. At least in my car I am. In my car I can blast the radio and belt out notes like I’m Mary J. or Keisha Cole. I’m the singer, the backup, and the dancers, the whole kit and caboodle. You oughta’ see me, bobbin’ my head, swinging my shoulders and hips like I Am Something. And when I’m really feelin’ it I throw on my shades so I can look it, too. Yup, I am a rock star, don’t even try to tell me different. And when the whole clan is in the car; kids, dogs and all – well, hot damn,  now it’s a family affair. We’re like a modern day Jackson Five.  Not my husband though. I think he thinks he’s too cool. Plus he’s always grumpy. So I guess he’s more like Joe Jackson, our mean manager.

Rolling credits for the night.

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